


Purely decorative

by flowerdeluce



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Collars, Episode: s03e22 The Most Toys, M/M, Mouth Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Data blinked, silent, awaiting his captor’s instruction. Since Data accepted his fate, Fajo had lost the passionate interest he had in him initially. When Data did not fight back, he was less exciting, so whenever Fajo visited he brought a test for him, a challenge; if Data chose to be deliberately boring, he would force alternative behavior. The black strap in Fajo’s hand presumably had something to do with today’s challenge.





	Purely decorative

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon divergent in that Data doesn't escape Fajo's showroom, (because I wanted to write about Data wearing a collar) :)

The heavy door slid open in anticipation of Fajo’s arrival. Looking over his shoulder, Data went to stand. For the past few hours, he had sat watching the Lapling shuffle about her cage within a cage, big blue eyes turning in her head.

“Don’t get up.” Fajo approached the circular sofa in the showroom’s center, the perfect shape to admire any part of his collection from. “It’s better if you’re sitting down, actually.”

Data blinked, silent, awaiting his captor’s instruction. Since Data accepted his fate, Fajo had lost the passionate interest he had in him initially. When Data did not fight back, he was less exciting, so whenever Fajo visited he brought a test for him, a challenge; if Data chose to be deliberately boring, he would force alternative behavior. The black strap in Fajo’s hand presumably had something to do with today’s challenge.

“I want you to wear this,” Fajo said, eyes flashing wide. He held out the strap and Data examined it: leatherette, dotted with simple flat metallic studs like portholes on a ship, a gold clasp at one end.

“What is it?”

“A collar, Data.” He gestured to his own throat. “Goes around your neck.”

It did not appear the be the type of collar an animal might wear. There was no name tag, minimal aesthetic decoration.

“For what reason?” Fajo had already convinced him to wear clothing of his choosing, and for no real reason at all. Perhaps this accoutrement was an attempt to humiliate him further, cause a reaction.

“Why don’t you let me put it on you, hmm?”

Data looked at it again. It could be dangerous. If Fajo was going to dress him in it himself, that meant he had deactivated his proximity field. Quite the risk for something purely decorative. Data nodded.

“Good choice.”

Wrapping the collar around his neck, Fajo encouraged Data’s head back so he could fasten it at the front. The small studs snapped to his bioplast like magnets.

“Its technology is similar to my proximity field,” Fajo said, slipping the strap into the clasp and pulling it tight. “If you don’t do as I say or you try to take it off, it’ll shock you. Same effect on your positron flow. Obviously.”

“How does it determine if I have disobeyed you?”

Fajo straightened his back and stepped closer, looking down into Data’s eyes with a crooked smile, gaze sliding over the fastened collar. “Want to find out?” He reached for the field generator on his belt; an extra switch had been added to its array.

Data parted his lips, ready to say yes. If he wore a device that might potentially destroy his positronic network, he would prefer to know how it functioned. Knowing its operation was the first step to figuring out how to deactivate it. But he did not wish to be shocked, so he shook his head.

Fajo ran a fingertip along the collar’s edge and angled his head to get a better look. They had never been this close before, close enough that Data sensed the heat of Fajo’s skin against his throat.

“It fits you perfectly,” he said. “Though I had it custom made to your exact specifications, so…” He flapped his hand theatrically. “But it suits you.”

Remaining still in Fajo’s presence had been advantageous previously. Quick movements startled him, angered him, as though he anticipated an attack at any moment. Data threw Fajo's Roman bust at him once, tried to trip him in the doorway so he might escape in the confusion, so his concern was not unjustified. He stayed motionless as Fajo’s fingertip ascended his throat, stroking beneath his jaw and over the edge of his chin.

“You’re a handsome machine,” he said, voice low. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Data did not expect Fajo required an answer to that question. He stared up at him, unblinking.

“It breaks my heart to hurt you sometimes.”

Fajo pressed his thumb to Data’s mouth, brushed his lower lip with a soft, repetitive motion before pulling it down. Data opened his mouth and let Fajo inspect it. He touched the edge of Data’s teeth, eyes fixed on them, and breathed a little faster.

“You could bite through bone couldn’t you, Data?” A nervous smile flashed across his lips. “You won’t.”

Sliding his thumb further into Data’s mouth, he traced the center of his tongue, back and forth, feeling the wet synthetic muscle flex.

“Such attention to detail.”

Withdrawing, Fajo swallowed and straightened his back. “Anyway. I have a surprise for you.”

Data raised an eyebrow. Almost everything that occurred on Fajo’s ship was unexpected.

“I’m allowing you to leave this room. Your… abilities are wasted here. I’ve various duties that you’ll no doubt perform with greater speed and accuracy than my crew, things you can test, count, organize, and they’ll be more stimulating for you than sitting here alone day after day, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I do not wish to perform menial tasks on your ship, Mister Fajo. I am a trained Starfleet officer with—”

Data’s head snapped back. Fajo had activated the collar. Electromagnetic energy crackled around his throat, locked his limbs into spasm.

“Refusing to do as I have asked of you,” Fajo said, finger firmly pressing the switch, “counts as insubordination.”

He released the switch and Data’s body crumpled, limp, slithered off the sofa until he lay curled on his side at Fajo’s feet. The shock had overloaded some of his systems; he worked on bringing them back online as Fajo pressed the toe of his shoe into his shoulder and shoved him onto his back.

“You understand now, don’t you?”

Data tried to answer but his speech unit produced no sound. His language module was re-calibrating. He managed a jerky nod.

“That was the lowest setting by the way,” Fajo said, somewhat triumphant. Stepping over Data’s body, he walked over to the door and clicked his fingers twice while it glided open. “Come along, there’s work to be done.”


End file.
